


Two Sides

by fallintosanity (yopumpkinhead)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Brother Feels, Brotherhood, Brothers, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity
Summary: Thor's people barely escaped Hela's rampage, and now they're floating through space in a stolen ship with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Thor had expected them to be angry.He hadn't expected them to take that anger out on Loki.





	Two Sides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missKafka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missKafka/gifts).



> For missKafka as part of the Fandom Trumps Hate charity event. Thank you so much for the wonderful prompt! :D
> 
> Beta'd by the awesome Morbane - any remaining mistakes are mine.

_There should have been courtiers_ , Thor thought numbly.

Just a few hours ago, he’d been crowned King of Asgard - or rather, king of what was left of Asgard, a ragtag group of refugees who’d just watched their home be destroyed. Though _crowned_ was perhaps too strong a word for what had happened, anyway; there had been no crown, no attendants, none of the pomp and circumstance that had marked Thor’s first coronation ceremony. Had it truly only been seven years ago? Less than a decade, barely a blink of an eye, yet Thor felt as though more had happened in those seven years than in the previous ten centuries of his life.

Seven years ago, walking through the Great Hall toward his parents and brother on the coronation dais, Thor had reveled in the cheers and adoration of his people. Now, his true crowning had been a solemn affair. No joyous shouts, no bright music, no courtiers: just two thousand angry, grieving, hungry, cold, terrified people packed into a spaceship meant for the Grandmaster’s garishly lubricious parties. Asgardians they might be, but nobody in the Nine Realms could be expected to handle such a thing gracefully. Thor was just glad nobody had started a riot yet.

Still, he wasn’t sure a riot was far off. Everything was quiet at the moment, the exhaustion from the flight from Asgard and the battle on the Bifrost taking its toll on the refugees, but it wouldn’t be so forever. Which was why Thor was skulking through the ship’s back passages, away from the people packed into the main ballroom, trying to get back to the captain’s quarters so he could steal a few hours’ sleep. He’d need it if - or more likely _when_ \- everything went rotten. No one else was back here - not yet, at least; Thor had no doubt that as time passed and restlessness set in, more people would be willing to venture into the dark, dingy, smelly passages which threaded through the ship’s walls. But for now they were empty, leaving him alone with his thoughts and memories and might-have-beens.

Crowned he might be, courtiers and ceremony or no, but he felt no more like a king now than he had a few days ago on Sakaar as a slave in a cell. No more like a king than when he’d left Asgard after the Dark Elves’ attack, no more than when he’d fallen to his knees before Mjölnir in a Midgard desert, his power stripped from him and the word _unworthy_ ringing through his mind. Seven years ago, it hadn’t occurred to him to ask his father what it felt like to be king; he’d thought he’d known, had thought everything would work out as it always had, in his favor. But the years since had taught him differently. He was king of Asgard now, and felt no different, no less uncertain or afraid or angry than he had before. Only now his people expected him to be none of those things, and Thor wasn’t sure he could be what they needed.

He came around a corner and found a door blocking his way; without really paying attention he pressed his palm to the lock reader and waited for the door to hiss open. But it didn’t, and he frowned. Loki had programmed Thor as the ship’s captain shortly after they’d left Asgard’s ruins, which meant his handprint could open any door on the ship. He pressed his palm to the lock again - maybe it hadn’t read properly?

The door still didn’t open, but this time Thor heard the click of the lock turning over, and a soft whirring as the motor tried to move the door. It shifted ever so slightly in its frame, then jerked to a halt, the motor whining unhappily as it fought some hidden obstruction before giving up. Thor narrowed his eyes at it. It could be as simple as a jam, or it could be something more ominous. Loki had stolen the ship from the Grandmaster’s hangar, and while Thor had spent only a few days in the Grandmaster’s dubious hospitality, it was more than enough time to be suspicious about what might be behind a jammed door on the man’s ship.

Thor sighed. He didn’t want to deal with this now, not after everything that had happened in the last… however long it had been since he’d returned from slaying Surtr on Muspelheim. Not when the bunk in the captain’s quarters sounded like the most comfortable bed in the universe despite its questionable recent past. Not when his empty eye socket throbbed with a pain that wouldn’t quit, and the reality of his murdered friends, his ruined realm, hovered at the edge of awareness, ready to drown him in grief the moment he let his guard down. But _someone_ had to deal with it, and no one Thor trusted enough to do so was any less exhausted.

He pressed his palms against the door, feeling its weight. He knew very little about spaceships, having always traveled via the Bifrost, but he was fairly sure this was a blast door: the kind meant to seal off parts of the ship in the event of an explosion or sudden decompression. Which meant it shouldn’t have been closed in the first place, and his suspicions grew into a niggling worry at the pit of his stomach. What was the Grandmaster hiding back there?

Channeling lightning was harder in the depths of space than it had been on Asgard or Midgard or Sakaar, where he’d had atmosphere to work with, but not impossible. Power built up slowly in his core, electricity sparking along his fingertips where they rested against the metal. Thor closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the weight of the energy struggling to get free. He held it back, gathering more and more until his ribs ached with it - then pushed it all out through his fingers, past the door into whatever was jamming it on the other side.

Thunder rattled the corridor, and even the heavy blast door shook in its frame. Thor pressed his palm against the lock panel again, and this time the door slid open.

The space beyond was a little too wide to be a hallway, a little too small and crooked to be a main room, created by an oddity where the ship’s functional geometry didn’t quite align with the paths of the people who walked around inside it. Miscellaneous bits of heavy metal, probably spare parts for in-transit repair jobs, lined the walls. One girder lay in the middle of the floor where Thor had blasted it away from the door, its ends shining from having been braced in the door to jam it.

At the far side of the room was a group of Asgardian men, an odd combination of older tradesmen and young Einherjar trainees. Several of them held metal rods and blocks clearly pulled from the scatter of parts; others simply had clenched fists, and they were all staring at Thor with the same combination of surprise and slowly-dawning horror on their faces. They stood in a loose circle, and at their feet…

Thor froze.

At their feet lay a figure in black leather clothes, torn in several places and spattered with blood. Pale fingers were just visible beneath the heavy armored boots of one of the young trainees, twisted in a way that meant broken bones. Black hair tangled around the knuckles of another man, frozen where he’d bent close with his fist drawn back to deliver a punch. Thin panting gasps echoed in the silence left behind by the thunderclap.

_Loki_.

Thor didn’t remember moving, but he was suddenly across the room, a handsbreadth from the nearest of the men. Lightning sparked from his closed fists up his arms, the world taking on a whitish tint as the power shone from his remaining eye. His voice, when he spoke, came out a low growl. “What are you doing?”

The younger men glanced at each other uneasily, trying to back away despite the tight confines of the room. One of the older men, a blacksmith by the guild sigil on the clasp of his cloak, stepped forward, chin lifted in defiance. “This _beast_ destroyed our home,” he spat. “Killed the All-Father. Started Ragnarok. We’re getting rid of it before it destroys what’s left of us.”

“Beast,” Thor repeated. Despite the lightning dancing around his body, he felt oddly calm. Distant. Like he was watching from far away as this man tried to justify beating a prince of Asgard, Thor’s own brother, to death.

“It’s a frost giant,” one of the young men said, his tone half angry, half pleading. “They’re monsters.”

“This one should’ve been slaughtered with the rest of ‘em during the war,” the blacksmith said. “The All-Father had too big a heart on him, thought he could turn a monster into an Asgardian. But just look what happened to us!”

“The prophecy of Ragnarok said it would start with ice and end with fire,” another man spoke up, and pointed at Loki’s limp body. “A frost giant started it, and a fire giant ended it. It’s his fault our realm is naught but rubble!”

“I am king of Asgard,” Thor said. “It was on my orders that _my brother_ —” emphasis on the words, a reminder of what Loki was— “began Ragnarok, so Hela could not continue to grow in power and destroy all the Nine Realms.”

“Then he tricked you, Majesty!” the blacksmith said. One of the other men grabbed at his arm, staring at Thor with fear in his eyes, but the blacksmith shook him off. His voice shook with rage as he continued, the fury making him bold. “He’s been too long close to you, he knows you, knows how to manipulate you. It’s what he does, after all, what he’s known for—”

“The only thing,” Thor interrupted, thunder rumbling under his words, “my brother should be known for now is saving all Asgard with his actions in the last few days.”

“Your Majesty—”

He didn’t know which of them said it. He didn’t care. Power blasted out of him, slamming into the group of men and flinging them into the walls hard enough to leave dents. Their bodies twitched with leftover electricity as they fell limp to the ground. He didn’t think he’d killed any of them - they were Asgardians after all, and not so frail as most creatures in the Realms - but he found he didn’t care if he had.

Loki lay still on the ground, curled as though he’d tried to protect himself from the blows. His face was covered with blood and bruises, his nose was shattered, and more blood ran in a line from his mouth. His leathers hid most of his body, but the way he lay suggested more broken bones, possibly worse. Only those thin ragged breaths, desperate gasps that held agony behind them, showed he was still alive.

Thor’s stomach churned at seeing his little brother so wounded. Even on Svartalfheim, after Kurse, Loki had not looked so awful. Thor was almost afraid to touch him, but he wanted more to get Loki out of this room. He knelt beside his brother, his hands ghosting over Loki’s body as he checked for any injuries which could be made deadly by movement. Loki flinched at the touch, and Thor’s breath caught in his chest. He resolutely did not look up at the men sprawled around the edges of the room, who had done this to his little brother. If he did, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from killing them.

Instead, he closed his eye and said, very quietly, “Heimdall, I need you.” There was no obvious sign that Heimdall heard, but there rarely was - the Steward of Asgard would respond regardless. While he waited, Thor eased Loki out of his protective curl, smoothing his tangled hair away from his face, wiping away the worst of the blood to see the bruises and cuts beneath. It looked like the men had attacked Loki with their fists and feet and the blunt metal pieces, not swords or knives - but that was hardly a blessing. They had wanted him to suffer.

Footsteps clanked behind Thor, and he glanced back to see Heimdall enter. The Steward’s face was expressionless; his Sight would have already shown him what he would find. His gaze settled on Thor, waiting.

Thor slid his arms beneath Loki and lifted him to his chest; he was as gentle as possible but Loki's breath still hitched in pain. Straightening, Thor said to Heimdall, “Deal with them.” He didn't look at the men sprawled around the room. The rage in his heart threatened to crawl out of his throat with the words, and it was all he could do not to say _kill them._ Heimdall, at least, might be merciful.

Heimdall watched him, his golden eyes knowing. Everyone knew those eyes gave him the power to see anywhere in the Realms; fewer realized he could see men’s hearts as well. Thor wasn't sure he wanted to know what Heimdall saw in his heart just then, or what he might think of it. In the span of only a few days, Thor had lost his father, his hammer, his eye, and his realm. The men on the ground had tried to add his brother to that list.

In his arms, Loki made a tiny sound of pain; Thor realized abruptly that his grip had gone tight and hard, and forced himself to relax. He returned Heimdall's stare evenly, and when he could trust his voice, he said, “Are there any healers among the survivors?”

The Steward studied him a moment longer, but finally said, “Yes. I’ll send her to you.”

Thor nodded. The room’s other door, which led onward toward the captain's quarters, had also been jammed shut with a steel beam; Thor kicked it away and the door slid open. He carried Loki through, along the last few halls to his room, and was lucky enough to not run into anyone along the way.

The enormous plush bed in the captain’s quarters was clearly designed for a different sort of physicality than treating a badly-wounded man, but the low couches along the walls weren’t nearly long enough for someone Loki’s height, and Thor wasn’t going to lay him on the cold metal floor. The thick cushions nearly swallowed Loki, but he seemed, maybe, to ease ever so slightly into the softness of the bed. Thor set to work peeling back his brother’s clothes to expose the wounds beneath. He’d only got as far as Loki’s torso when a knock at the door announced the arrival of the healer.

She was a slim woman, older, and Thor recognized her vaguely from his trips to the palace’s healing ward when he or his friends had been in need of medical attention. Her eyes widened when she saw Loki lying on the bed, and she hurried to kneel beside Thor. She didn’t ask what had happened - either Heimdall had told her or she simply knew better than to push Thor at the moment - just slung a bag from her shoulder and set to work. She had a healing stone, thank the Norns, and some of the salves and poultices that would both ease Loki’s pain and speed the magic of the stone.

Thor sat back and let her work, though as time wore on, he couldn’t stop himself from standing and pacing with impotent frustration across the room. He’d been too late to protect Loki, just as he’d been too late to rescue his father, too late to save his realm. A king was supposed to protect his people, yet how could Thor hope to protect what remained of Asgard when he couldn’t keep his own brother safe? It was yet another reminder that he was not ready to be king, and the fact that he’d found Loki before those men had killed him was only a small comfort against the weight of responsibility bearing down upon him.

The healer ignored his restlessness with professional calm, and finally stood up from Loki’s side and turned to face Thor. “Will he be all right?” Thor demanded.

“He’ll be fine, but he’ll need a lot of rest,” she said. Her voice was brisk but gentle as she instructed, “Let him sleep until he wakes up on his own. And be patient. The healing needs time to take hold.”

Thor nodded, and remembered to say, “Thank you,” as she packed her things, bowed, and took her leave.

Alone with his brother once more, Thor knelt beside the bed to examine the healer’s work. Loki was no longer covered in blood, and the more superficial bruises and cuts had already vanished. His broken nose had been straightened, and while still bruised, would clearly heal well. His breathing was easier, deeper, and he didn’t react when Thor brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

Thor breathed out a sigh of relief. Loki would be all right. Thor hadn’t lost him - neither to the would-be murderers, nor to Loki’s own capricious nature. He’d said many things to Loki during their escape from Sakaar, things which must have been difficult for Loki to hear. They were all true, and needed to be said after so many years of lies and deception, but Thor had been genuinely unsure how his brother would react to being dismissed, written off like that. He had hoped, of course. Hoped his words would get through, hoped Loki would understand. And by some miracle it had worked: Loki had come home after all, had fought at Thor’s side. Now Thor was determined to keep him there, idiot guildsmen and trainees be damned to Hel.

Thor had expected unrest as his people processed what had happened to them and the magnitude of their loss, had hoped to find a way to keep it from growing to full-blown riots. He hadn’t expected them to pin all that anger on Loki, who - for once - was largely innocent in the matter. But now that he knew about it, he could protect his brother. Thor wouldn’t let anyone else on the ship near him, not until he was certain he’d dealt with the sentiment that had fueled the attack.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, kneeling beside the bed with his head pillowed on one arm, but he awoke some time later to Loki struggling to sit up.

“What are you doing?” Thor demanded. His whole body had gone stiff as iron sitting like that, his abused muscles screaming as he moved, but he still had no trouble pushing Loki flat on the bed again. “You should be resting.”

Loki scowled, swatting ineffectively at Thor’s hand on his chest. “I’m fine.”

Thor stared at him.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Loki repeated, but it was the sulky voice he used when he knew he’d lost, and he sank back into the pile of cushions.

“You almost weren’t,” Thor said. The words burst from him without thought: “Why didn’t you fight back? None of them were warriors - you could’ve fought them all off with one hand tied behind your back.”

Loki looked away.

“Don’t tell me you thought you _deserved_ it,” Thor demanded, appalled.

That, at least, made Loki laugh darkly, though he still didn’t look at Thor. “Heavens, no.”

“Then what?” Thor demanded. “Why let them do this to you?”

Loki’s mouth tightened, his green eyes searching the wall as though it held a lie he could tell. His heartbeat thudded under Thor’s hand where it was still pressed to his chest to keep him from trying to sit up, and Thor thought he felt the steady rhythm speed up, as if Loki was afraid. He reached up with his free hand; the angle was awkward but he managed to cup Loki’s neck, turning him to face Thor. “Loki,” he said, as gently as he could.

Loki sighed and closed his eyes, but his expression was one of concentration, not an attempt to avoid Thor’s gaze. A moment later, freezing cold swept across his skin, followed by a wash of arctic blue, studded with half-finished scar patterns. When Loki opened his eyes again they were blood-red and very, very tired. “If I had fought back,” he said, very quietly. “If I had hurt those men in any way… what story do you think they would have told?”

Thor stared at him, appalled by the implication. When he couldn’t find words to answer right away, Loki continued, “I’m the dangerous mad Jotun who destroyed Asgard. I’d’ve been crucified.”

“But… that’s not what happened,” Thor protested. “I mean, _they_ attacked _you_ —”

“Name one person on this ship - in the entirety of the Nine Realms - who would believe a word I say,” Loki whispered.

“I would,” Thor said.

Loki raised one eyebrow, meeting Thor’s gaze until the contradiction in his own statement caught up to Thor. He scowled at his brother. “I’ll correct you when you’re being an idiot,” he said. “But I will believe you when you tell the truth.”

“Ah, there it is,” Loki said. He sank back against the mattress, the blue and the scars fading from his skin until he was once more pale and bruised. “And who determines the truth, O King of Asgard? Asgardians, or those whom they’ve beaten into submission?”

Thor winced, a memory of standing with Hela in the throne room flashing through his mind. As much as he hated to admit it, the hidden murals proved she hadn’t lied about what Odin had done so long ago. He couldn’t imagine what that knowledge must mean to Loki, who’d already hated himself for being just one more trophy Odin had stolen from yet one more conquered realm.

Thor had grown up believing in the picture Odin had painted of Asgard as benevolent guardian of the realms: an advanced people who used their golden might to protect the lesser beings of other realms. It had never occurred to him to question why Odin had taken the Casket of Ancient Winters from the Jotun, despite knowing it would doom their entire realm to a slow, agonizing death. He’d never wondered why the people of Vanaheim lived in dirt hovels. He’d never cared that Midgard had been left to tear itself apart with war. Loki had grown up the same way - yet he’d had the illusion torn from his eyes seven years ago, when he learned the truth of his origins and Odin had rejected him on the Bifrost. It was no wonder, then, that he’d been acting out ever since.

Another memory, kneeling in the Sakaar gladiator prison and saying the prayer for the dead, Loki’s voice joining him. Loki saying, _hurts, doesn’t it. Being lied to_. Thor had been too lost in his own grief to understand what Loki had meant at the time, but now…

“I can’t change the past,” Thor said softly. “I cannot undo what Father did, to the other realms or to you.” He tightened his grip on Loki’s neck, willing his brother to hear him. To _believe_ him, because while Thor might not be ready to be king, he _was_ king, and with all that responsibility came the power to make things right. “But I will do whatever I can to make a better future for Asgard.” Loki opened his mouth and Thor added quickly, “ _All_ of Asgard, whether by birth or no.”

Loki laughed softly, bitterly. “The more fool I, for wanting to believe you,” he whispered.

“Lies have always been your domain,” Thor said, and smiled. “I’m just the Lord of Thunder, remember?”

Loki stared at him for so long that Thor started to worry he’d said the wrong thing. He was trying to figure out what else he could say to fix it when Loki moved, far faster than he should have given his injuries, and swatted Thor upside the head with a pillow. Thor laughed, hooking an arm around Loki’s shoulders and pulling him into a hug - only partly because it meant Loki couldn’t hit him again. “I mean it, brother,” he said. “You belong here.”

“You said it would be best if we never saw each other again,” Loki said, his voice muffled by Thor’s shoulder.

“Yes, well,” Thor said. “That was then, this is after you gave up ruling Sakaar to come save Asgard.”

“Who says I gave it up?” Loki said impishly, and pulled away from Thor enough to grin at him. “Perhaps I just made a brief detour.”

“Not too brief, I hope,” Thor said, and grinned back. “There’s a lot yet to do.”

“I’m well aware of how much work it takes to be king,” Loki teased. “After all, of the two of us, who has more experience with the job?”

“Eating grapes and watching terrible reenactments of your own deeds is hardly _work_ ,” Thor shot back.

“You’re forgetting about the time I was legitimately king by succession,” Loki said. “Asgard didn’t stop running while you were cavorting around Midgard’s deserts with your lady friend.”

“So what you’re saying,” Thor said, and made a show of looking thoughtful, “is that, given your extensive knowledge and experience, I should appoint you Lord Chancellor.”

Loki put a hand to his chest, mock-horrified. “Oh, heavens, no. I’ll not accept a position that requires me to actually _work_.”

“Then it’s a good thing my first command for you is to rest,” Thor said. “The healer said you’ll need a lot of it.”

Loki held his gaze for a moment, then snorted. “That, I can do.” He settled back down against the pillows, a small smile dancing on his lips. Despite his good humor, he still looked pale and drawn and exhausted, and Thor was glad he hadn’t argued.

“Get some sleep,” Thor said gently, and cupped Loki’s neck again. “We’ll reach Earth soon and I’ll need you by my side.”

Loki’s eyes were already slipping closed, his breathing deepening, but he murmured, “Always.”

Then sleep took him, and Thor finally allowed himself to relax. His brother was safe, and would stay where he belonged at Thor’s side. Thor wouldn’t let anyone else bring harm to him, not Asgardian nor anyone else in the universe.

They were still a ship of refugees, a people without a home, but for the first time since Thor had returned to Asgard, he felt like things might be all right.


End file.
